Castiel Writes Fanfiction for the Winchester Gospel
by Auto Pilote
Summary: When Balthazar first gave Cas the books, he never thought he would fall in love with the characters. When he finds the characters are real, he's little idea of what to do, except, "Be cool, just don't fangirl over them". "I AM THE ONE WHO GRIPPED YOU TIGHT AND RAISED YOU FROM PERDITION." Nailed it. (DESTIEL. eventually) based on the tumblr post (link for this is on my profile page)
1. Time to get a tumblr

**wrote this today omg this ship i can't help someone i'm drowning in all the shipper feels make it stop **

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It's a wonderful book. At least, Castiel think so, even if the rest of the garrison finds it distasteful. They find most things concerning humanity distasteful. For a long time, so did he. From Heaven's perch, he often finds the antics of humanity petty and repetitive. Although their reality TV is little like their reality, it's all the same brand of entertainment to Castiel. He doesn't understand Balthazar's fascination with humanity and its vices, until his brother suggested the books. He remembered how he touched the cover warily at first, as if it might bite or infect him. The cover in itself was a creation of the absurd, made as if to purposely taint cheeks with red. From the darkened sky with painted stair and glowing moon, -a backdrop for the sharp-lettered title, "Supernatural", to the

Beneath this beautiful cold night portrayed in even greater detail – the oddly tailored man, bare chest as he bared an ax, his figure the most prominent part of the glossy paperback cover, followed closely by long silky brown locks, frozen in an exaggerated toss and brisk wind. Castiel held the gingerly, careful not to touch that half of the cover. He thought at first it might have been a sappy romance novel, but the cover lacked any buxom mistress usually portrayed in that same melodramatic pose. Rather, reserved in the back, another man leaned against a sleek black car, blending into the scenery. Some invisible weight hunched his shoulders, oddly set apart from a confident smile. These were the only discernable details, only because the rest of the young man was smudged by a careless coffee stain, probably from the book's previous owner.

If it weren't for the stain, he might have never thought to look inside the cover. He started it slowly, feigning distain for the matter until he could hide his addiction to the series no longer- he needed to know what happened next. He tore through each page, before wandering back to digest each detail. Balthazar supplied him with each new book, the only one he specifically conversed with about them. It was obvious his brother didn't care for the series with the same passion as he did, and he itched to have someone to discuss them with, or at least more material to devour.

Once or twice- or a thousand times Castiel picked up a pen and thought to continue where the latest book left off, or to change a detail in a scene while waiting for the next bit of the story, but he never knew what to add. He mostly played with the pen in his hands, vague thoughts of what it might be like to meet his favorite characters, before he shook such thoughts away.

On occasion he wished Anna were still there – with her curious nature she would surely love the books as much as he. He pretended she was there, discussing the series. First he would ask her if she liked the books. Then, which was her favorite. She'd say, "Route 666", the one Balthazar had winked/teased suggestively at when he gave it to Castiel. It was the one where the author had chosen to describe a scene of lovemaking between Dean and a past girlfriend in heavy detail. He would say it was his favorite as well, and insist it was the 'fantastic demonstration of wit and bravery' that made it the best, rather than that chapter where the pages were falling apart from being so often read. Then he'd ask her who her favorite character was. He answered Dean. With a start he realized he hadn't even waited for her answer. He already had been naming the various reasons why he preferred Dean, with no offense to Sam's character. He admired Dean's character for his sharp skills and careless words, and despite having 9/10 of his personality being vices, the remaining 1/10 being pure hero that allowed him to prevail. It was a side note that the physical attributes listed in the novels were also fairly persuading. All he had for an image of him were the alluding details the author occasionally left. It didn't help that in all the book covers dean was eternally off to the side, and forever smudged by coffee stain- as if Balthazar were doing it on purpose. He never mentioned it, for that would dare to expose his obsession, and open the gates for more teasing.

One day he was sure the other angels were tempting his humiliation, but in all seriousness, he was assigned a mission. A soul was to be raised from hell, and returned to its body safely. The orders were given: Raise Dean Winchester from Perdition.

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**more chapters to follow quickly, let me know what you think! on a supernatural kick at the moment, so any headcannons or AU's you have about the series that sorta go along with them, lemme know i can write them in. i'm more likely to answer at .com**


	2. Totally Not Stalking I saved his ass

**okay skipping forward a bit. if you have an idea for a better transition, just message me or comment or i'm here .com**

**probably there because i'm never here**

**this one's a bit sad/depressing towards the end, ignore that please**

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Drained, exhausted and near delirious, he tried to steady himself. Pulling a soul out of Hell had been more difficult than he predicted. If Balthazar had been watching, he would have chided Cas, "You should have used both hands." as he was taking a moment to orient himself, constructing a witty Enochian retort to the imaginary jest, a loud thud sounded beneath the patched grass ground. Even under the parching sun, he felt a chill sweep his mind, as his Balthazar-voiced conscious snapped, "Wonderful, genius, you've buried him alive. Record time for shortest resurrection in all history."

Frantically Case fumbled for what to do- exposing his true angelic form could horribly damage Dean, but otherwise there was nothing he could do, no way for him to move the earth. Desperately he looked all around him, all across the diseased grass and choked weeds, but there was nothing for miles around, only his shadowless presence, the circle of slaughtered trees, and the strangled wooden cross to mark the grave.

In a moment of frozen fear a hand burst through the ground, splintered, dirty, a sliver ring around one of the fingers, reaching up to the sun. He could(would?) have grasped that hand, and cradled it more tenderly than rain. Before he could, another arm reached out of the ground, bringing the gasping head and shoulders with it. Cas watched, paralyzed as the figure heaved in each new breath, hacking out the stale coffin air. The words he had read barely matched reality, and what his imagination had pieced together from the blurred book covers paled in comparison to what he saw. In a daze, Castiel memorized every detail of him, every grain of dirt or smear of blood. As Dean pulled himself out, standing up and shouting at the heavens for some explanation, Castiel watch reverently, naming each bone, muscle, and ligament he captured in painful detail, whispering to himself, "This is what I brought back." As Dean turned away from him, not waiting for an answer from the sky, Castiel's eyes slid over his retreating back, dipping down, the only thought he managed was, "I should have used both hands."

He followed him, taking in every sound of breath and step on the paved road had Dean later found. Although each echo pronounced it fact, he couldn't bring himself to believe the book character he had so often read of was actually there. His voice had gone dumb, his thoughts muted. He felt as tired as Dean looked, all sweaty and about broken. He should go back to Heaven, but the need to stay, just a little longer, kept him watching. _In the flesh_, the phrase barely meant it. Here, for the first time in life, body and soul, was the embodiment of the words Castiel had so long felt he knew, -no longer a thought behind a page, but an object of heavenly creation.

Numbly, he followed Dean into the vacant truck stop, where dean broke in to steal a bottle of water and discover the date. Then he found a sink, rinsing three months of dirt off his face and hands. The disbelief was spreading across Dean's face as he checked his torso for the gaping wounds his encounter with the hellhounds had left. Castiel paid a mild attention to him, smiling at his handiwork -no scars, save for his handprint on Dean's shoulder- as it finally dawned on him that _he had actually done it, he had raised a soul from Hell. _

Brimming with the excitement of a child, Castiel sang out the news on angel radio, bright and clear as a choir of bells, the message – _Dean Winchester is saved._

Despite having no mass, Castiel felt lighter than before: Everything he had read was there, the chopped hair and corner grin that Dean flashed as he spied a magazine, "Busty Asian Beauties". In his enthusiasm, he turned to Dean as he robbed the connivance store, and speaking with the one wish that Dean would be able to hear his true voice-

The TV in the corner turned in static.

In a moment every device in the store was on, blaring the snow storm frequency. Dean was covering his ears as he tried to pour salt at the windows. In desperation he tried to say it louder, and the windows shattered, scraping Dean's hands.

His heart sank, and he quieted his words. Dean couldn't hear him. Dean would never hear his real voice without going permanently deaf. Somewhere in the heart of a child, the naïve hopes he had kept were broken, and the pessimistic vibration dulled his spirits, telling him he would never truly meet his favorite character.

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**sorry it's ended on such a sad note, imma pick right back up with the happy stuff**

**whenever i write to much i make it sad so ignore that sadness okay? i'm not editing this shit at allllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll.**


	3. Nailed it

**this one starts out sad and all but i promise this has the best ending because reasons**

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Sulking, he presented himself to several people afterwards, burning out their eyes, if only to prove to himself it was rare that human could sense him without being injured. The first one he whispered for her, the psychic, to not provoke him. The others were possessed by demons, but their vessels did not escape the consequences.

Later that day (more towards the night) he tried again to speak to Dean, but he only shattered more glass.

In a surge of relief, he realized another way, disappearing. He returned that night, after finding Dean had changed location yet again (did he never stay still? All those miles traveled in the books didn't seem real until they made Dean harder to find). Outside/Above the warehouse, he stopped to chuckle at the poor attempt to ward him off. Bobby was inside, chanting an incorrect summoning out of his book. Cas thought later he might fix the errors, when he was on their side. This was it. He was finally going to meet Dean, face-to-face. It would be just like the books, the dramatic energy and suspense building as Dean, the hunter lay in wait for the monster-

He frowned. There was a slight plot hole. He was no monster, snarling and breaking things- well, he had shattered a lot of glass. And some other things.

Annoyed with how he had been worked into the plot, Castiel paced, an odd thing for him to do, but in his new vessel he had little other ways to express it. He disliked how many steps it took him to cover such a little distance.

_I should introduce myself- the monsters never do that_, he decided. Suddenly he was concerned with his introduction, as first impressions were often the most important with humans. What would he do, what would he say? He hadn't had the time to think up anything dramatic or lasting, and he had never let himself fantasize what the scene would read like if he met Dean, even under the circumstances.

Hours later, Bobby and Dean still waited in the warehouse. Bobby whistled every now and then, more distracting than entertaining.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" Dean asked, to which, the eavesdropping Cas mentally answered "_No_." But he would let them believe they had.

The windows clattered and the tin roof panes battered against the wooden beams, light bulbs bursting in clouds of smoke, - a mishap on Cas's part, he tripped and fell on the roof, unused to his body and how his powers acted in it, he caused a greater commotion than planned. The light bulbs exploding were a nice touch, though.

Brushing himself off from the ground, he stood, forcing the doors open, the beam holding them together snapping. He stepped through the doorway under a shower of sparks, watching them flail and cower under the dramatic effects.

He approached them with all the calm he could muster, still panicking on what to say as light bulbs burst overhead, raining sparks on his shoulders. Bobby and Dean back up against a sigil-decked wall, loading their shotguns and firing at him. He watched carefully, sidetracked by the calm Dean maintained, exactly as described in the books, if not better. Dean set down the shotgun, realizing it was useless against him, picking up a jagged knife –the one that killed demons, first appearing in "The Magnificent Seven". Castiel's expression flickered to surprise and amusement, remembering he hadn't read that one in a while. He resolved to read it again when he found the chance.

_No, no, no, now's not the time to think about that, focus,_ he chided himself.

_Be cool be cool you can be cool for a bit._

His eyes met Dean's, and he was startled by their hardened expression.

_Whoa look at that green. _

Baring the knife, Dean snarled, "Who are you?"

_Ah shit don't panic. _

_Don't panic. _

_Panic. _

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

_Nailed it. _

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**oh chuck i love awkward!cas, i want to make a comic out of it. **

**this is all i have for now tell me what you think or i can't write more**


	4. Balthazar Suggests Castiel read Wincest

**okay people awesome if you like or hate this but if you read PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK because i have no idea where this is going**

**like **

**-should Cas spy on the bro's all the time while Jimmy Novak narrates his reactions**

**or **

**-should Cas try to read some wincest and end up befriending Becky**

**like what should i do i have no clue tell me which idea is better**

**i can't finish this w/o some feedback**

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After that, Castiel didn't see Dean for a very long time.

Mostly because he was embarrassed. Also because any reason he thinks of to see him again is put off by the embarrassment, which flushes heat to the ears and cheeks of his new body.

Each time he remembers the event he swears his heart drops into his stomach and shrivels in the gastric acids, sending heavy waves of humiliation over his scalp. It tightens the area around his tear-ducts and the corners of his mouth tug down against his will. The second-hand embarrassment from Jimmy Novak doesn't help much either, but he tried to ignore him.

At first Cas believed something as wrong with his vessel physiologically, but he found there was nothing to be healed. Only his pride.

"I was the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition - gripped you tight and raised you from perdition- the mere phrasing was archaic, it'd been centuries since anyone of Heaven spoke like that! Well at least he had gotten a deep, commanding voice down. If that's how vocal cords were even used, although in retrospect, his voice might have been a few octaves too low. Jimmy, from wherever his soul had been squished aside to, mentioned that he normally didn't sound so gruff. Cas put him to sleep. The endless harping and commentary from Mr. Novak was not appreciated.

His mind was still reeling from the embarrassment, days later. He paced back and forth for hours, unable to calm himself unless he slipped into quiet moments of self-loathing. It was only after the fact did he think he might have better said, "I rescued your soul from Hell" or some less ostentatious variation of that.

As he cradled and attempted to nurture his injured pride, he heard the flutter of Balthazar's wings, visiting him in one of his preferred heavens. Castiel tried not to look particularly excited about seeing him. Not that he ever looked excited in front of the garrison, but he was particularly unexcited now.

"I should've known you would come to mock me."

Balthazar grinned. "Sadly no, brother. Perhaps another time, when you're looking a little less moody _(broody?)_. Although your tripping on that roof was an excellent display of your new vessel's dexterity."

Castiel's brow furrowed as his mouth tugged into a frown. "You… saw that?"

Balthazar's expression was lined with a taunting sympathy. "Oh, you made enough noise for heaven to hear you. Don't doubt that."

Sighing, Castiel bit at one of his nails, an interesting feature to his vessel. It was slowly becoming a habit. Balthazar swatted his head, chiding him to not destroy the body he was borrowing. "Take better care of that poor sod you've offed."

"I didn't kill him," Castiel muttered, his voice grating.

"Balthazar shrugged, making a vague gesture with rolling ass. "Look, I'm not saying you _killed_ him, per se, but that fact that you're wearing the fellow's skin is a bit suspicious."

Cas glared at him, and changed the subject back. "Why are you here, besides tormenting me? If you brought the next book I don't want it. Living that moment down is hard enough without reliving it in _bad writing_."

"Oh shut up, you love them. Besides, I would read it out loud for you each time you become too big for your feathers." He strolled through the garden path of the spring-day heaven. "If I weren't for the fact the series ended when Dean went to hell. No more books have been published."

"Oh." That was somewhat disappointing. He might have taken comfort if the books managed to portray his appearance as a more awe-inspiring event than his screw-up. Mortals tended to perceive the acts of Heaven as radically different from their original intent. "That's too bad."

"But don't worry, dear brother, I'm sure there's more literature on your favorite drama, on everything _before _your blunder. Check that…" he made another vague gesture. "Infernal archive the humans have. World-Wide-Blogosphere or whatever it is. It may not have much of a fanatic domain, but there's always a few deluded enough to think they have any insight into the characters." He paused his departure, adding as a side note, "I'd suggest avoiding anything listed as _Wincest_, it might be a little too… "whatever the opposite of Cain-and-Able is" for you." He turned to leave.

"Balthazar, wait," Cas pleaded. "I…uh, I was wondering."

His brother raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"…What do you think of Dean, um, as a character?"

He shrugged, and sat down next to Cas. "In the beginning, when the Universe was created, -which, by the way, I have always regarded as a bad move- you may remember being told not to step on a particular fish."

Castile nodded. "I didn't, and it thus its descendants evolved into what is mankind today."

It was Balthazar's turn to nod. "Well, I for one have not yet regarded the not-stepping-on-the-fish as a bad move. Not yet, there's still time to disappoint. And so far Dean Winchester has not found some way to change that opinion." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder, with that hopeful but saddening expression that made Cas think his brother had read several unpublished books ahead, he sighed, "Not yet, at least."

He stood and left with the final comment, "P'rhaps you should look into unofficially drafting the next couple of chapters, keep you from making any more mistakes."

_But I have no idea what to write or what I would even do. What do you say after a butchered introduction like that?_ Cas thought to himself. He didn't know if he even wanted to see Dean again. Or if his dignity would allow him.

_If it helps, I'll grammar-check it for you after_, Jimmy Novak suggested idly.

Castiel groaned, forcing Jimmy out of his head. Everything was a mess.


End file.
